


Gotta Dance!

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-30
Updated: 2007-12-30
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12075921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Sequel to Hidden TalentsAuthor’s Note: Okay, so folks asked for it, so I wrote it.  Michael’s Interpretive Dance RecitalTotally unbeta’d,  All mistakes are my fault - feel free to point them out so I can correct them.





	Gotta Dance!

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Author’s Note: Okay, so folks asked for it, so I wrote it. Michael’s Interpretive Dance Recital  
  
Totally unbeta’d, All mistakes are my fault - feel free to point them out so I can correct them.  


* * *

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Brian groused at Emmett as he took his seat on the amazingly uncomfortable folding chair in the elementary school gym.

“It’s important that we support Michael. He’s our friend.”

Hunter and Ben shuffled in. Ben appeared an awkward giant in the room scaled to school children. 

Ben took a seat next to Justin, while Hunter took the seat in front of Ben. Ben leaned across and rubbed Brian’s knee. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to Michael to know his friends are here.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever.” Brian leaned into Justin and whispers in his ear. “You _do_ remember what you promised me if I endured the entire presentation.”  
  
Justin turned and smiled sweetly at Brian. “Of course.”  
  
A woman appeared in front of a makeshift curtain and welcomed friends and family to the recital of the Marcia Gellner School of Interpretive Dance.  
  
During the fairly brief welcome speech Brian managed to fashion a rather streamlined paper airplane from the program, noting that Michael’s performance was number eight of ten.  
  
“Quit it!” Justin hissed clamping a hand over Brian’s only seconds before the paper airplane would have gone airborne.  
  
The curtain finally parted and a group of ten little girls no older than eight took the stage. They were dressed in pink leotards and had on white tutus with sequins. Debbie, who was seated in front of Brian and Justin, clutched Carl’s arm. “Oh Carl! Aren’t they fucking adorable?”  
  
This, of course, garnered Debbie a glare from the parent seated next to her, which Brian thought was sure to be the highlight of the afternoon. Carl patted Debbie’s arm and observed that the program was starting.   
  
Ted scooted in beside Emmett. “Did I miss anything?” This was greeted by a round of shusshing and Brian’s acerbic “Bad makeup, bad shoes, bad dress and bad hair.”  
  
Emmett gave Brian a look and turned to his friend. “No, Michael isn’t on until the eighth dance.”  
  
Over a crackling PA system “D.A.N.C.E” by Justice blared out as the little girls marched around the stage and swayed partially in step with one another.  
  
This was followed by painful duet by two pre-pubescent girls to the tune of Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab”. Justin elbowed Brian after a bark of laughter. Ted buried his head in his hands and groaned.  
  
Dance number three consisted of the first group and other pre-teen dancers along with four previous unseen pre-teen boys. The children gyrated to Kanye West’s “Stronger”. Emmett immediately recognized the sampling of one of his favorite songs and started bouncing in his seat until Brian stepped on his foot.  
  
Finally, the pre-teen set left the stage, to be replaced by a group of thirteen to fifteen year olds going on thirty-five. Decked out too much stage make-up and dressed in dark leotards with scarves wrapped in sari fashioned, the group circled the stage, waving scarves up and down as Justin Timberlake belted out “What Goes Around... Comes Around” through the dreadful sound system. The fifth set ended and the lights on the stage blinked off and there was a lot of shuffling. When the lights came up the scarves had been discarded. The teens now appeared with cat ears and tails.  
  
This time it was Justin’s turn to moan, “No, tell me they aren’t.”  
  
Sure enough, the strains of “Don’t Cha” by the Pussy Cat Dolls began to play through the speakers.   
  
“Save me!” Brian muttered, sinking low in his chair. In front of him Debbie was swaying to the beat of the music. He looked at Justin, “Now can we leave?”  
  
The teenagers were gyrating and shimmying around the stage.  
  
Justin shook his head and whispered back, “We can’t, we promised Michael. Though _he_ owes us now for putting us through this. If we didn’t have to watch his dance, I’d seriously consider gouging my eyes out.”  
  
Blessedly, the song finally ended with the teens in poses of thrust pelvis’ and outthrust budding bustlines. The house lights dimmed once more and they scattered off the stage.  
  
An older teen took the stage and performed a half decent solo -- well, in comparison to what they had previously viewed -- if only the music was something other than the dreadful “Taking Chances” by Celine Dion.  
  
The teen danced and leapt across and around the stage as the music swelled and ended the dance by falling overly dramatically into a heap on the floor. The lights extinguished and there was a shuffle on the stage.  
  
“Finally,” Brian muttered.  
  
The lights on the stage rose and there was Michael. He and two other dancers in their twenties -- one man, one woman -- were dressed in matching red athletic suits and sweat bands across their foreheads. The throbbing beats of Pink’s “U + UR Hand” pumped out of the speakers, and the group shed their jackets to reveal more skin than one would really want to see from the dancers given their forms.   
  
Sadly, out of the three of the Michael was in the best shape. The other scrawny man was covered in a tank top, which would have been a better choice for the woman given the ill fit of the tube top she wore that revealed too much skin that rolled un-enticingly as she performed walrus type moves on the ground. The men circled around her beating their fists against their hips in motions, if executed another ninety degrees around their body would have had them jerking off.   
  
Ted, Emmett, Brian and Justin sat there frozen, mouths agape as Ben clapped along to the music in support of his husband. Hunter buried his head in his hands and tried to sneak out, but Debbie caught him by the back of his hoody and pushed him back into his chair. Carl tried to look anywhere but on stage.  
  
Brian finally shook himself out of his shock and asked Justin “Remind me what it was that you could possibly do to make it worth my while to be assaulted by this?”  
  
Justin glanced around, noting Emmett, Ted and Hunter’s interest. He leaned closer and whispered in Brian’s ear.  
  
Halfway through the song, the lights began to flash and the dancers stripped further to reveal gold lame briefs and bra, and grasped in their hands were gold pompoms which they shook in time with the music. The dance continued as they circled one another, performed connected moves imitating dominos falling and more gyrating in circles on the floor. A short series of acrobatic moves were executed with poor timing and no grace whatsoever. The dance finally came to a close with pinwheeling arms and a series of calisthenics and what could only be described as Pilates gone bad. The whole thing appeared to fall apart as the group finished their dance about four seconds ahead of the song. They were left standing on the stage looking a bit lost as the final notes played out.   
  
The lights blinked and the group joined hands and bowed. Ben stood up and clapped enthusiastically, and unfortunately, nearly alone. Polite applause joined in, but quickly died. The three left the stage and a group of older teens dressed in street clothes began to break dance to Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit”.  
  
“Can we _please_ leave now?” Brian asked Justin.  
  
“No!” Justin hissed back. “It’s not polite! Besides, we have to go to the recital reception following the performance.”  
  
“No! I am _not_ suffering through some dance hell after party! I don’t care how long Michael and I have been friends. There are limits to what one must endure in the name of friendship.”   
  
“Amen.” Ted agreed.  
  
Brian looked over. He didn’t expect an ally in Theodore.  
  
“Look at the time. Ted, didn’t we have a conference call with Gyrakrist scheduled at 5pm?”  
  
Deb turned around. “Nice try, but it’s Sunday. Sit your ass back in that chair. If you so much as try to leave before congratulating Michael on his performance, I’ll have your remaining ball!”  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
There was a round of gasps from the other parents and “Brian!”s from the gang. Carl kept his eyes trained on the stage where the break dancers had now moved on to “Body Movin’” by the Beastie Boys.  
  
The commotion in the audience, threw off the dancers on the stage who ended up knocking into one another, causing tripping and falling. On the bright side, no one really noticed, because after all they _were_ break dancing.  
  
The song came to an end about the same time things settled down in the audience, leaving a momentary lapse of quiet after the song ended and before the awareness that it was time to applaud. Carl, good man that he was, started the clapping, and everyone joined in quickly. The curtain swept closed, then quickly opened to reveal all of the students lined up with hands joined. The line took a bow as “One” from “A Chorus Line” played softly. Each performer and performing group took a bow before joining hands once again for a final group bow.  
  
The curtain closed, but not before an invitation was issued to all to stay and enjoy refreshments with the dancers.  
  
Hunter, Ben, Ted, Emmett and Carl helped as chairs were folded and tables were moved to the center of the gym and quickly covered with paper clothes. Cookies and punch were laid on the tables.  
  
Brian had pulled Justin into a janitorial closet and tried to convince him that this would be a good time for a quick blow job, as Justin had neglected to inform him that there would be an after party. Had he known, Brian would have been sure to bring a flask. As it was, he couldn’t very well spike the punch with his disco pharmaceuticals with minors present. So it was entirely Justin’s fault that he’d have to weather the reception sober.  
  
“So you see, young man, it is your duty...”  
  
“To blow you?” Justin palmed Brian’s hardening form. “Later.” Justin exited the closet leaving Brian to either take matters into his own hands, or cool down. Brian thought back to Mikey’s performance. _Well, that took care of one matter_. He exited the closet and went in search of Justin.  
  
Justin had joined the rest of the gang as they circled around Michael congratulating him on his performance.  
  
Michael had a damp sheen of sweat on his face and was flushed with obvious excitement. “We’re calling ourselves PIDT! That’s for Pittsburgh Interpretive Dance Troupe! We’re planning on taking our message to the streets!”  
  
Brian, who had joined the group, looped his arms around Justin. He leaned close to his partner’s ear. “And what message would that be?”  
  
Justin turned and looked up to Brian. “He’s your best friend. Friends don’t let friends... dance in public?”  
  
Even Ben, supportive as he was, was hesitant for Michael to test his wings in a more public forum. “Michael, do you think that Pittsburgh is ready for your group?”  
  
“Yes! We’re already practicing for our debut public performance. We’re planning on performing at the steps at the School of Fine Arts at Carnegie Mellon. It’s great!” Michael beamed up at Ben. “You won’t have to miss our performance. You can just walk over from your office.”  
  
Ben turned pale and Hunter slapped him on the back with a “Fuckin’ A!”  
  
“Uh Michael...” Ben started.  
  
“I do believe that this is the right time for us to make our exit, Sunshine.”  
  
Justin nodded and backed away from the circle.  
  
Ted and Emmett chose to make their retreat as well.  
  
Carl looked on enviously.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
After he’d collected his promised reward, Brian lay on the bed carding his fingers through Justin’s soft hair. Justin lay limply across Brian’s chest. A chuckle rumbled disturbing Justin.  
  
“You know, this is all your fault.”  
  
Justin propped himself up on his elbows. “My fault?!”  
  
“Yes, I distinctly remember you suggested to Michael that he might want to get some professional training.”  
  
“I think I said professional help.”  
  
“Whatever. It is entirely your fault.”  
  
Justin sat up and glared at Brian. “It is NOT!”  
  
“Luckily, I managed to extract us from the recital before you could do any further damage.”  
  
“Damage?!”  
  
“You know Justin, you’re going to have to be more careful in the future. Imagine the fate of Pittsburgh if Michael is allowed to unleash his ungodly powers on the streets where common people tread?”  
  
Justin cocked his head and contemplated what Brian was saying.   
  
“It would be pure mayhem,” Brian answered his own question. “Lucky for you, I’ve learned to channel my powers for the good of all the citizens.”  
  
“Oh, really?”  
  
“Yes. Shall I demonstrate?”  
  
“Lead on... just don’t do it to music.”  
  
Author’s note: If you think it couldn’t happen, then you really don’t want to go [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5WYZvdiom4) or [here](http://www.wholeworlddance.com).  
  
  



End file.
